


are all these bridges now old stone

by hellstrider



Series: Long & Lost [1]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Anyways, Familiars, Long & Lost Verse, Longing, M/M, Magic, Make-up, Pining, The Upside Down, Upside-Down mythology, Witch AU, Witch!Billy Hargrove, Witchcraft, because rip to the duffers but im different, break-up, god these boys are stupid i love them so much, here we are, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-28
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:07:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21589651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellstrider/pseuds/hellstrider
Summary: no great love story has ever started gently.and so it begins.
Relationships: Steve Harrington/Billy Hargrove
Series: Long & Lost [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1555963
Comments: 41
Kudos: 341





	are all these bridges now old stone

**Author's Note:**

> HELLO I'M BACK  
> welcome to the long & lost verse, which i've had running on my tumblr (now billyhargrovens) for a while  
> i'm revamping it here,
> 
> title from long & lost by florence + the machine,,,,,  
> love u!!!!!

No great love story has ever started gently.

This is _not_ the exception.

And _this one_ ,

_This one_ starts with a fist to the jaw,

Starts with monsters, monsters with faces that opened,

Monsters from a world stuck right between reality and the place Billy thinks is called Hell, the place that shouldn’t exist but does,

And it starts with –

A fist to the jaw,

A monster with a face that opens,

Starts with _months_ , months of _wanting,_

Of _hating_ himself for it,

Starts with a bloody kiss after a too-narrow escape in the Hawkins woods, _and,_

Steve is the one who kisses Billy, shoves him up against a tree and steals all the air outta Billy’s smoke-rotten lungs,

And Steve Harrington will _keep_ the air he steals from Billy Hargrove for the next five fucking years,

Because,

Not _three months later,_

After Billy nearly gets thrown in jail for almost _killing_ Tommy _fucking_ Hall when Tommy beats the _shit_ outta Steve behind the gym,

After Billy’s given Steve all the air in his smoke-rotten lungs,

After Billy’s given Steve Harrington every last piece of his shrapnel heart,

Steve says,

“I’m, uh, I’m gonna move,”

And it’s said in bed, the worst place somethin’ like that could be said, and Billy’s got Steve’s spunk on his chest, and they’re tangled together, still, when Billy’s shrapnel heart shoves through his bones, shoves outta him and buries itself in Steve Harrington, and _here’s_ – here’s the _thing,_

Billy always knew he was counting down the seconds he got with Steve,

‘Cause not even Billy’s own _mama_ had seen _anything_ in Billy worth stickin’ around for,

And Steve would figure that out _, one day,_

And it’s better _sooner_ rather than _later,_

Even though Steve’s already stolen all the air outta him,

Even though Steve’s the sun around which the magnetic pieces of Billy’s stupid, tattered heart orbited,

Even though Billy will be half-dead for the next _five years,_

It’s better, _in the moment_ , in his seventeen-year-old brain, the brain that doesn’t know what kinda hurricane lives inside these steel-coated bones yet - better that Steve figures out _sooner_ rather than _later_ that there’s _nothin’_ in Billy Hargrove worth stickin’ around for,

So Billy untangles himself from Steve, taps out a cigarette, says, “yeah, okay,” and ignores Steve’s quiet, “tiger, _hang on,”_

And that’s the _moment,_

The moment that will write the script for the next _five years,_

All because Billy ignores Steve’s quiet, “tiger, _hang on_ ,” and puts on his jeans, pulls on his shirt, and _leaves._

So, _really_ ,

It was Billy who left first, _wasn’t it?_

And he gets into the Camaro, keys jingling in the ignition, and he’s got a spare key to this house, the house that soon won’t be a home, ‘cause it won’t have Steve Harrington in it, and Billy drives until he thinks the car might be about to peel apart around him.

He drives, and drives, and _drives,_ and ends up at the junkyard at midnight with a bottle of Jack, drinks it down like water, breaks so much glass so brutally it turns back to sand,

And Steve’s blowing up his phone,

So he breaks that shit, too,

And Steve corners him at school, and Billy’s only at school ‘cause his dad’s being a special kinda demon, lately, and he nearly put Billy’s head through the wall when Billy came home _drunk_ , covered in grit,

So Steve gets to corner Billy at school, looks at him with those fuckin’ _doe-eyes,_ and Billy’s shrapnel heart is crying out from the cage of Steve’s chest, and his soul _aches_ , and there’s something inside him that he doesn’t recognize, some kinda _primal_ shit, some kinda _devoted_ shit, some kinda _faith_ that’s – that’s just, absolutely _shattering,_

And Steve says, “I don’t wanna stop this, Billy,” and Billy always knew Steve would leave, one day, but _he_ left first, and even Billy’s mama hadn’t found _anything_ in her kid worth sticking around for, so,

Better _sooner_ than _later_ ,

And if there’s one thing Billy Hargrove is good at,

It’s cutting ties with savage teeth,

So he does,

Says, “it was always gonna end, Stevie. You were good ass while it lasted, though,” and they – they have an _audience_ , here, in the middle of the Hawkins High hallway, because everyone knows about the Kings of Hawkins High, but that shit didn’t really matter anymore, not to the two that wore the crowns,

And Steve’s nostrils flare and his eyes glint and Billy loves him so much it _burns,_ and there’s something _feral_ inside him, something red-eyed and wounded, limping, and it keens like it’s dying when –

“You thought this shit _meant something,_ Harrington?”

And,

“You know, I dunno what I fuckin’ _expected_ , Hargrove,” and Steve’s all fire, and Billy wants to fall to his knees, and he’s seventeen and _stupid_ terrified, and he’s lost everythin’ good in his life, was always gonna lose _this,_ too, ‘cause Billy Hargrove is one unlucky son of a bitch; “ ‘cause you couldn’t even tell me you loved me without being fucking _drunk_ ,” and,

Billy laughs in his face _, laughs,_ because otherwise he’s gonna scream, gonna beg, gonna _fall to his knees_ , but –

(He won’t know how to pray for a few more years, yet,)

He _doesn’t,_

And instead he laughs in Steve’s face, shoves at him, and Steve drops his backpack and grows spikes, and then teachers have to get involved, and Billy rips outta the school parking lot in the Camaro after getting suspended, and he’s gonna have _Hell_ to pay for this kinda trouble, but he doesn’t give a _shit_ , doesn’t _care_ , because his heart’s somewhere in the Hawkins High hallway, and,

It’s _real easy_ to avoid Steve after that, ‘cause Billy exists kinda like a ghost, and Steve can really be scarce when he needs to be, and Billy ignores the acid-eyed looks from Nancy in the hallways, ignores Robin when she plops down across from him in the library, one day, and just, watches him,

Ignores Jonathan when the guy tries to _talk to him_ , Jesus, like they _do_ that kinda shit,

And poor fuckin’ _Max_ gets the brunt of Billy’s ire, because she _always does_ , and she just lets him rant and spit shit he doesn’t mean, just sits and listens, and then she reaches across the console of the Camaro and takes one of Billy’s hands _, and –_

It’s the first time Billy cries, _really_ cries in fronta Max, and she doesn’t say anything, just holds his hand, and fuckin – fuckin’ _Africa_ comes on the radio and Max turns it off,

And then Steve is _gone,_

And all Billy’s got are the photos on his broken-ass phone and the smell of ocean-spice cologne clinging to an old Hawkins High sweatshirt he keeps balled up in the back of his closet,

All Billy’s got is Max and little Jane Hopper and the other rugrats, the ones Steve was so exasperatedly fond of, the ones Billy’s grown stupidly protective of; all he’s got are photos he can’t look at anymore ‘cause he broke his stupid phone, and a Hawkins High sweatshirt that soon just smells like Billy’s dusty bed,

And there’re a couple months there, a couple months where Billy just – doesn’t _care._ He doesn’t care if he lives, dies, wakes up, doesn’t, and it’s like he’s reverted back to the way he was before Steve Harrington, just, a dead guy walkin’, ‘cause Steve Harrington shoved sunlight into Billy’s chest, woke up the feral little thing inside him, and now that sunlight was _gone_ , and,

He acts up worse than he ever has,

‘Cause he just _doesn’t give a shit,_

And the feral little thing inside him is long and lost, cut loose, raging without purpose,

So Billy graffitis Steve’s old house,

Drinks too much,

Smokes like he’s tryina burn out his lungs,

Nearly wraps his Camaro around a tree,

And Neil gets so fucking fed up that he puts Billy through a window, and Billy falls a story to the ground, and Neil ends up in jail and Billy wakes up in the hospital to Hopper’s glowering face, and,

“Heya, Chief,” Billy rasps, and he’s always liked Hop, ‘cause Hop’s got ragged edges like Billy does, had an old man that beat the shit outta him; “you’ve aged me about twenty years these past six weeks, kid,” Hopper says, and sounds it, “so guess where you’re goin’,”

And it’s not military school,

Or juvie,

Or a foster house,

It’s Hopper’s fuckin’ _cabin,_ where little Jane Hopper lives, too, and Billy _can’t_ – can’t be mean to little Jane Hopper, not like he could be mean to Max, and Hopper knows it, and Jane adds Billy _on_ , on _Snapchat_ , because she just, knows he’s got one and Hopper gets him a new phone and then he’s getting _Snapchats_ from little Jane Hopper,

And it’s – it’s _inane shit_ , shit like bees on flowers and deer she sees in the woods, Snaps from her hangouts with Max, of ice cream and _, and,_ normal _kid_ shit, and she’s got _superpowers_ but she sends him Snaps of Max making weird faces or Mike with his head on his desk because he’s just died on World of Warcraft for the fiftieth time in a row while Lucas and Dustin laugh at him _, and,_

While little Jane Hopper gets to finally be a kid, Hopper shoves an axe into Billy’s hands and drags him outta the cabin, because weird shit is coming outta Hell again, _and_ – and Billy’s made to be gentle at home, because he can’t be mean to Jane, and she sends him Snaps of normal shit, of bees and flowers and animals, and he’s allowed to be _violent_ when he goes with Hopper to investigate the weird shit that comes outta Hell and spreads through Hawkins,

And one night, Billy, knuckles bruised from punching a demo-dog in the face, gets weak and unblocks Steve’s number,

And he starts –

Getting texts.

So many texts.

And it’s all shit like, ‘ _i miss hawkins in autumn’_ , and ‘ _this flower reminded me of u how stupid is that_ ,’ and, ‘ _why am i texting u_ ,’ and,

Billy never answers,

Because Steve _left_ , like he was supposed to, and he shoulda, always woulda, but here he is, texting Billy, and Billy - Billy _keeps ‘em_ , doesn’t delete ‘em, and every time Steve’s name pops up on his screen, the little feral thing in Billy’s gut _whines_ , whines like it’s _starving,_ and,

He doesn’t answer,

And he works with Hop, graduates from Hawkins High with Hop and El and Max hollering in the stands, and,

Billy starts – starts to _grow up_ , a little,

Even if he’s a dead man walkin’

Even though he won’t breathe proper for another four years,

And he takes Max to California for a weekend, _and they,_ they start to, to really _heal_ , the two of ‘em, _and,_

“I haven’t seen you smile like this in a while,” Max tells him, as they sit on the Santa Monica pier, legs dangling over the water, and Billy looks towards her, and she’s got ice-cream on her nose, so he reaches out to wipe it away, _and,_

_Since Steve left_ hangs on the air, unspoken, but Billy takes a deep, steadying breath, watches a gull sweep down over the churning ocean, and, 

“Always felt better by the sea,” he says, and Max smiles, offers out her strawberry cone, and Billy takes it,

_And,_

Steve comes back to Hawkins a year after he leaves to visit the little shits, and Henderson is the one who blurts it out the week before Steve shows up, and Max groans and thumps her head against the Byers’ tiny kitchen table, and Hopper shoots Henderson a dirty look, and they were _just_ , just, gonna _spring that_ on Billy, spring _Steve_ on him _, and –_

“Dingus,” Robin huffs, and Sinclair shakes his head as he looks at Henderson, but Billy’s never been more grateful for the kid’s unstoppable blabbermouth in his _life,_

“Billy,” Joyce tries, but Billy’s outta his seat, jacket on, and then he’s outta the house, outta Hawkins, outta _Indiana,_

And,

He ends up at the sea,

Follows the feral little thing in his gut right to the ocean,

To Massachusetts,

To _Salem,_

And there are two parts to this, _two_ , because there’s a sun and a moon, a boy without a heart, a boy lost across the plains, so there’s two parts; the _love_ , and the _life,_

And this is where the life begins,

Because the _love_ began with a fist to a jaw,

‘Cause that was the only way Billy Hargrove knew howta love before he met Steve Harrington and learned how to put his weapons down,

And then he _lost_ Steve Harrington,

And Billy’s been a dead man walkin’,

But this is when the _life_ begins,

When,

“You’re lookin’ _mighty_ lost, little bird,” and the woman is full-figured, golden-skinned, and her hair is frizzy and long, hangs past her waist, and she finds Billy in the woods, at an outcropping of rock that reminded him of the Quarry, and her thick Bostonian accent reminds Billy of the way smoke looks over water,

And the little feral thing in his gut opens its eyes, and they’re _gold_ , not red, and it keens and caws and _croons_ , and Billy feels a little like he did the last time his mama sang him a lullaby and tucked him into bed, and he doesn’t know this woman, doesn’t know why he’s deep in the Salem woods, where he could get so lost no one would ever find him,

_But,_

“Yeah,” Billy says hoarsely, and the golden-eyed thing in his gut _hums,_ “yeah, think I am,” and,

“C’mon, little bird,” the woman says, holding out a ringed hand, “no one ends up here without some part of ‘em knowin’ why,”

And the little feral thing starts to unfurl from its fetal clutch in the pit of Billy’s gut, and,

There’s a huge house in the Salem forest, deep in the trees, a house with a wraparound porch and a little black cat perched right on the front step, and she yowls when they get close, peers up at Billy with huge, huge green eyes,

“Sprinkles likes the look of you,” the woman says, smiling fondly, “means you’ve got a good soul, honey,”

“She might be broken,” Billy mutters, and the woman laughs, a sound like the tide crashin’ into the shore,

And her name is Gretchen,

And her wife is Selene, a slender woman with long blonde hair and violet eyes, and,

There are dozens of people livin’ in this house, this house that’s so much bigger on the inside than on the outside, and Billy’s skin feels too tight, and the golden-eyed thing in his gut is purring, burring, _stirring_ , and,

“You’ve been touched by the Otherworld, dear one,” Selene says, leaning over to touch the scar on Billy’s cheek, the scar he got from pushing Steve outta a ‘gorgon’s way, and those violet eyes can see _through_ him, and he thinks he should wanna _fight_ , but he _doesn’t_ , and Selene’s face softens like she _knows_ , and - “you’ve been fighting a long, _long_ time, haven’t you?”

And,

Hell is _real,_

And so are _witches,_

And they know how to fight Hell, these witches, know how to beat the Upside-Down at it’s own game, ‘cause –

“It’s just a piece of the Otherworld,” Selene tells Billy one evening, as they watch the moon rise over the trees, and Sprinkles is curled up in Billy’s lap, and he’s not felt this calm, not ever, and especially not since Steve Harrington left with the air in his lungs, “a between-place, a ruined place.”

“Purgatory,” Billy murmurs, and Selene arches a brow, smiles with her full, pink lips,

“Purgatory,” she agrees, and Sprinkles is purring as Billy runs his knuckles over her head,

And these witches know how to fight the shit that comes spillin’ outta that between-world, so Billy finds himself staying an extra week, then another, then another,

And he calls Maxine, because he _misses_ her, actually misses her, and she sounds _pissed_ when she picks up and says, “ _oh, you remembered me, did you_ ,” and Billy can’t help the smile that flickers across his face,

“Hey, shitbird,”

“ _You better be coming home eventually_ ,” Max says, and Sprinkles weaves between Billy’s ankles where he’s standing on the front porch, cigarette burning down in his knuckles, _“El’s pissed_ ,”

“We’re not alone,” Billy tells her, “other people have dealt with this bullshit, Maxine,”

“ _Don’t call me that. And yeah, El told us, she spied on you. Dustin keeps saying you’re at Hogwarts. Is it like Hogwarts?”_

And Billy groans, bends back a bit with the force of it, “I _hate_ that shit, Maxine, I really do,”

_"Yeah_ ,” and Max sounds like she’s smiling, and Billy misses her somethin’ fierce, “ _I know,”_

And one day,

One day, Steve texts Billy, texts him –

_‘I miss u,_ ’ and Billy’s throat goes so, _so_ tight, and he’s in the kitchen in the Coven, and a few witches are arguing over the potion bubbling in the cauldron in the huge, walk-in fireplace, and then Steve texts, ‘ _I miss u and I don’t know why, ur such an asshole, why do I miss u still, I hate u for making me miss u_ ,’ and,

The feral thing in Billy’s gut starts to _weep_ , weep like it’s about to die,

And,

One of the witches shrieks as the fire in the fireplace, just,

_Explodes,_

Flares like it’s tryina eat ‘em all whole, and,

Billy can’t see, can’t _breathe_ , and he drops his phone and Sprinkles makes a sound he’s never heard her make and then Gretchen and Selene are there and he can’t – he can’t _breathe,_ can’t _think,_ can’t _see,_

And,

Then the fire’s comin’ from his hands, and he burns Gretchen, hears her curse, hears Selene shout, and he – he’s _hurt Gretchen_ , and Steve _hates_ him, and –

He doesn’t know what the _fuck_ is _happening_ to him, what the fuck _happened_ , why fire leapt from the hearth and into his aching palms,

But it _had_ ,

And Billy thinks he must snarl with the voice of the feral little thing in his gut, red-eyed again, red-eyed and savage and aching for a heart it never deserved to bite into to begin with, because no one tries to stop him when he pushes out the back doors, leaves his phone and Steve’s texts behind, and Billy _just_ – just -

_Runs,_

Runs through the Salem woods, ends up lost in the dark, but he doesn’t give a shit, ‘cause he’s been long lost, ever since Steve Harrington stole the air outta his lungs, ever since he left, ‘cause it was better, better sooner than later,

And,

This is how the _life_ begins,

With _pain,_

Because that’s what life _is_ , highness,

( _Until it isn’t, tiger_ ,)

And,

Billy finds a tree leaking ichor, hears the faintest sound of a voiceless song, a vibration that makes the air go too thin, makes the marrow in his bones _ache_ , and,

When the Upside-Down calls,

Billy _goes_.

And the red-eyed, violent thing deep in Billy’s gut shoves through his bones, shoves through his muscle, his skin, as he slips through the burning gate, as he leaves the real world behind, leaves his heart beating on the other side, way across the plains, leaves it _all,_

Falls into the dark place, the place where it only rains ash, the place where he breathes in sideways, and the red-eyed, feral little thing is simmering in his skin, and Billy – Billy leans into it, leans into it with a gusting breath that punches right outta his chest, sounds like a threat when it comes out between his teeth,

And he hears Steve's laugh,

Hears him say, ' _can't believe you're mine, tiger,_ ' 

And Billy shuts his eyes, lifts his face in rapture, leans into red, _red_ eyes, leans into snarling fangs, leans into –

_Fire,_

And dogs with faces that open surge through the trees, called by the light in Billy’s palms, but then he’s coaxing flames outta the cold, cold earth, and the flames obey when he pulls ‘em up like weeds, obeys, doesn’t burn, and the flames obey, when Billy commands them to move, and the flames consume, when Billy bids ‘em to,

And _somehow,_

This is the _first thing_ that’s made any goddamn sense to Billy, ever, in his life, and not even Steve Harrington made any sense to him, ‘cause what the fuck was he doin’, wastin’ time with someone like _Billy Hargrove,_

But _this?_

This makes _sense,_

And Billy doesn’t know how long he’s in the Upside-Down, carving paths made outta flames, listening to things shout out in Steve's voice and get it all wrong - but by the time Selene yanks him out, he’s gore-coated, bone-heavy, blood-soaked, shaking with the savagery of the red-eyed beast that came to shove up under his sun-beaten skin,

And Selene cups his face as they kneel on the forest floor, and there’s a circle around them and Selene looks _terrified_ , looks so fucking _worried,_ and Billy feels a stab of guilt, and Selene’s violet eyes water and then she’s pulling Billy into a _hug_ , and Billy – Billy kinda, just,

_Breaks,_

Breaks right open,

And he’s gore-coated and bone-heavy and he misses Steve Harrington like he misses the California sun, Steve Harrington, who took the air outta his lungs and _never fucking gave it back,_

But he’ll have three and a half years yet to hate him for it,

And in the meantime;

Billy trains up, trains up _right_ with the Coven in Salem, and Gretchen teaches him how to control his fire, and Selene teaches him how to ask the fae for boons, teaches him how to banish the shit that comes outta the Upside-Down _, and,_

He goes back to Hawkins after six months, goes back with runes tattooed on his knuckles and a grimoire in his leather rucksack, and El – because she hates the name _Jane_ , Billy’s learned – is so furious with him she puts a barrier around her room, won’t talk to him, doesn’t Snapchat him _shit,_

And Hopper just _looks_ at Billy, takes in his rune-tatted knuckles, his long hair, pulled back in a mussy bun, then says, “think she’s been abandoned enough, don’t you,” and Billy feels it a like a punch to the gut, _but_ ,

“I can keep her safe, now, _proper_ safe,” he says hotly, “ _all_ of ‘em. I know how to keep ‘em _safe,_ Hop,” and Hopper’s face softens, and he – they’re not the huggin’ type, either of ‘em, so Hopper just puts a huge hand on Billy’s shoulder, grips it tight,

“Glad you’re home, kid,” he says,

And they both know Billy’s home left Hawkins, Indiana a year and a half ago,

But Billy gets a little dewy-eyed anyway,

And it takes some doing, getting back in El’s good graces, but Billy manages, manages to by conjuring little ghostly rabbits to run into her room, by buying an insane amount of Eggos, so many Hopper has to take some to the station; he does it by leaving his grimoire open on the coffee table, and eventually, _eventually,_ Billy catches El pouring over it, and he plops down beside her on the couch and she lifts up the ratty, tattered leather journal and shoves it under Billy’s nose, says, “I can’t read this,” and,

“It’s Latin, Jean Grey,” Billy says, and he’s learning, learning it slowly, is much better with Gaelic on his tongue, but, “this word means fire,” and he’d know it, know it in any language, now,

Because the red-eyed thing in him is _fire_ , and Billy _knows_ that now, knows how to gentle it outta his bones and burn away the vines that move like snakes, knows how to make it so it can’t hurt people, knows how to make it so it reduces human bodies down to fuckin’ barest ash,

And Billy –

Billy _grows up,_

And he turns twenty without much fanfare, but Steve texts him, _has_ , the past two birthdays, texts him, ‘ _hope it’s a good one, tiger,’_ and Billy gets so drunk he ends up sleeping hunched next to the toilet, and Hopper nearly takes him to the ER, and then spends the next week making Billy do all the manual labor around the house, “ _without_ magic, Hargrove, I _will_ know if you use it, and I _will_ kill you,”

And Billy used to really fear talk like that, ‘cause he’s lived with a monster at home since he was little, but it’s _Hop_ , and he never means it, just means he’ll take Billy’s car keys in a fruitless attempt to get back at him for scarin’ him shitless, and then El will steal ‘em back and they’ll go get ice cream and Billy will teach her how to make bees land in her palm by fillin’ it with sugar water,

And,

Billy Hargrove grows up,

Gets his arms inked in splashes of color and branches and laughing skulls and knives,

Gets a red, red rose on the side of his throat,

Gets Celtic knots across his collarbone,

Gets the head of a stag over the backs of his shoulders, a stag with honey-gold eyes,

And he gets a spiky, prickly _S_ right, right over where his shrapnel heart once lived, and,

He knows how to ask the fae for boons, fights the Upside-Down better than any of ‘em excluding Will and El,

And a red-tailed hawk starts followin’ Billy around, follows Billy from Hawkins, Indiana to Salem for the autumnal equinox, and Gretchen sees the bird, sees it as it settles on a branch outside the kitchen window, and her brown eyes get all –

“Are you _crying?”_ Billy demands from where he’s crushing raven’s beaks at the table, and he’s never, _ever_ seen Gretchen cry,

“She’s here for _you_ , darlin’,” Gretchen says thickly, and Selene drifts into the kitchen, sees the red-tailed hawk, and a slow, knowing smile unfurls across her full lips,

And Billy meets the hawk’s eyes,

And they’re _honey-gold,_

And something inside his body sighs, ‘ _there you are_ ,’ and as soon as Selene opens the window, the hawk lands with a harsh, haphazard clatter on the kitchen table, wings blowing away Billy’s hard work,

But he _doesn’t give a shit,_ because then the hawk ambles towards him on her huge, taloned feet, ambles towards him and chitters, and she’s – she’s _huge,_ this bird, massive, and her eyes are _honey-gold_ and she’s got a perfect plume of auburn feathers atop her head, and,

Billy names her Fawcett, because he always made fun of Steve for his odd attachment to Farrah,

And Fawcett followed Billy from Hawkins, Indiana to Salem, and she’s his, the very image of his soul, and he didn’t think he had much of one left, anymore, but Fawcett is a livewire, flies fast like the Camaro and screams at three in the morning when she’s in a mood,

So she’s _definitely_ his,

And he’s twenty-one and a _fully-fledged witch,_

Has a goddamn _Familiar_ , at _twenty-one_ , and normally Covens share one, like Sprinkles, but Fawcett is his own, _only_ Billy’s,

( _Until she isn’t, tiger,)_

And Billy’s got fire under his skin,

And Billy turns twenty-two, twenty-three,

And Steve’s texted him over three-hundred times,

And Billy’s _never answered,_

But then comes the day that Hopper and Joyce finally figure their shit out, and they all pile into the Byers’ kitchen and there’s a ring on Joyce’s finger and the kids are all chattering excitedly, except they’re not really kids, anymore, because they’re all seventeen, eighteen, the same age Billy and Steve were when part of the Otherworld bled into their own,

And then Nancy and Robin and Jonathan Facetime Steve, because while Billy’s been pretending Steve is a ghost, they’ve been making new jokes, forging new stories, and Billy’s been forging a bond with the Upside-Down, been asking the fae for boons and burnin’ shit down to keep them all safe,

“Billy’s here,” Robin says, and Billy hates her, a bit, and Dustin and Lucas sorta box Billy in, and Sinclair’s taller than he is, now,

And,

Then there’s Steve, on the iPad screen, and he’s – he’s just the same, with that ridiculous hair, the hair Billy can still feel slip through his fingers, and he’s more angular and those eyes are still honey-gold,

“Heya, Cherry-bomb,” Billy rasps, and it doesn’t – sound like this voice; “miss me?”

_“Hey_ ,” and Steve’s voice rips through Billy like a fucking bullet, “ _hey, Billy,”_

And he’s beautiful, so fucking beautiful, and the fire inside Billy licks up into his chest, and then smoke’s clogging his throat when a voice in the background of the Facetime video calls, “ _what you want for dinner, babe,”_ but Steve’s eyes don’t leave the camera, don’t leave Billy, and,

Fawcett _shrieks_ , shrieks and clamors against the window, and,

The stove bursts into flames,

And Billy thinks someone’s reached into his gut and grasped his spine, and the stove’s on fire and Billy’s exhaling smoke and he’s not been much of a dick in years, years, but he snarls _“fuck off_ ,” when Henderson tries to keep him in place, shoves at him, and then he’s outta the house, and this is the second time, the _second time_ ,

And the _first_ time, Billy’s life began,

And this time,

This time it feels like it's ending,

And Billy drives, drives until he hits the sea,

Wanders through the Salem forest,

Sits in an ancient graveyard the world forgot, listens to the heartbreak in the earth, and Fawcett lands on his shoulder, nuzzles into his temple, and Billy presses his face to her side, and,

Steve’s in _Seattle_ , in Seattle living far from the pain that Billy brings, living a _new life,_ a new life with new people in his bed, new hands carding through his hair, new teeth painting bruises over his skin, and all Billy’s ever _known_ are those honey-gold eyes, cherry-pink lips, hands gentler than anyone like Billy Hargrove deserved,

And there’s been _no one_ ,

_Was_ no one, before Steve Harrington,

No one _after,_

And,

“Your heart’s always lived outside of you, honey,” Gretchen had told Billy, one bright Mabon morning, “way across the plains,” and Billy had shut his eyes and Gretchen had sang while tears cut down his cheeks,

And now Steve’s got _someone else_ in his bed, _someone else_ holding his heart, holding that sun-splashed heart in hands _far_ gentler than Billy Hargrove could ever be, and Billy sits in a graveyard where the witches under the earth are buried face-down, just like he’ll be, because they all went darkside, and one day, one day Billy will too,

And,

When the Otherworld calls,

Billy _goes,_

Walks across meadows of silver grass,

Sits beside a Washerwoman washing baby clothes at a river of black water,

Hears the jeers and taunts and songs of the Wild Hunt as they rip through the churning, hurricane sky,

Ends up tipping into the Upside-Down,

Breathes in _ash,_

Meets things that wanna bite through him so he bites through them first, meets things so ancient he feels the stirrings of faith when they reach out to touch him, and,

By the time Billy goes back to Hawkins, he’s got a new scar on his thigh and it’s been three months, and when he pulls up to Hopper’s cabin, the home he’s never really felt like leaving ‘cause it wasn’t really home at all, Hop’s out on the front steps, phone in hand, because he’s got a tracker on Billy’s, and he’d been waiting, and that makes something go sideways in Billy’s chest,

And Billy clambers outta the Camaro, the Camaro he’s fucked Steve in more times than he can count, the car he always imagined he’d sweep Steve away in, and he’s twenty-three and they’ll have to bury him face-down by the time he hits fifty, and Steve’s got someone else in his bed, someone else’s gentle hands around the heart Billy Hargrove never had _any fuckin’ business_ touchin’, 

_And,_

Hopper’s not normally the hugging type, but _this time_ – this time, when Billy comes back from the Otherworld, when he wanders back to the home that isn’t really his home, Hopper is, and he pulls Billy close, and Billy fists his hands in Hopper’s shirt, and his eyes start to burn as he shoves his face into his huge shoulder,

“Why can’t I fuckin’ _let him go_ ,” Billy snarls, and he sounds about as good as someone who’s spent three months in the Otherworld should sound, and _he’s not_ – this isn’t _normal,_ the way he feels, and he _knows that_ , because normal people, they _move on_ , they move on and find new hands to hold their solar-flare hearts, and,

“I just wanna let him _go,”_

And,

“No you don’t, kid,” Hopper says hoarsely, and Billy squeezes his aching eyes shut and Fawcett croons somewhere overhead, “I didn’t, not for twenty-fuckin’ years,” and,

“Steve says to cancel his plus one to the wedding, babe,” Nancy says, loudly enough Billy’s sure to hear it where he’s casting runes across the coffee table in the cabin, and it’s a week to the wedding, and Billy’s been resisting the urge to get in the Camaro and drive it until it does peel apart, “so jot that down, babe,” and,

Jonathan glances towards Billy, jots it down in the planner in the massive fucking binder Nancy’s got spread out over the kitchen table, and Billy’s empty chest _aches_ as he casts his runes, as he reads loss, unknowing, fear,

And,

The day of the wedding finds Billy at the edge of Hawkins, sat on the hood of the Camaro, and he’s supposed to be getting ready, is supposed to stand at Hop’s side as his best man, but he’s in his jeans and Steve’s old Hawkins High sweatshirt at the edge of town, contemplating _just_ , driving until he’s dust, and,

It’s Max who finds him, comes trundling down the road in her yellow bug, and she looks gorgeous in a blue pantsuit, flowers in her curled hair, red as the fire that comes outta Billy’s hands, and he hooks an arm around her neck when she nears, and she snatches the cigarette outta his teeth, puts it between her own, and Billy swats it outta her mouth,

“So,” Max asks, “where we goin’?”

And it’s not _fair_ , ‘cause Max knows Billy won’t run if she’s willing to run with him, ‘cause he can’t take her away from El, from Lucas, and Billy breathes deep, presses his nose to Max’s hair, red as the fire in his gut, and,

“I’m _tired_ , Maxine,” he murmurs, “real fuckin’ tired of runnin’,”

“Then stop,” Max says, like it’s that simple, and it is, and it should be, and Steve should be able to live without regret, which is why Billy’s never texted him back,

But,

“We’ve seen a lotta impossible crap, Bills,” Max says then, and Fawcett lets out an agreeing trill at Billy’s elbow, “case in point, you can make fire come outta water and listen to what a _bird_ tells you to do,”

“She’s my _Familiar,”_ Billy starts, for the hundredth time, and Max laughs, digs a knuckle into his ribs, and Billy just manages to stop himself from ruining her hair by ruffling it like she’s still thirteen and scraped up from skateboarding,

“I’m just _saying_ ,” Max says, arm slung around Billy’s waist, “a miracle might be right on the horizon, Bills, you never _know,”_ and,

She’s been fighting since she was littler than Billy had been, and she’s taken all his crap, has _forgiven him_ , somehow, and now she’s telling him miracles could _happen,_ could happen for a fuckin’ _unlucky,_ bury-him-facedown bastard like _him_ , and _suddenly_ – suddenly, Billy’s hit with a wave of adoration so fierce for his little sister he almost _chokes_ on it,

And,

“Love you, shitbird,” Billy says tightly, and Max’s eyes go _big,_ and then her face goes sorta soft, and then she smiles, smiles so big, and Billy drags her in, presses a kiss to her forehead,

And he doesn’t run,

Gets home _just_ in time to get ready,

And he’s at Hop’s side when Owens marries the Chief to Joyce Byers, the fiercest woman in all’a Indiana, and Billy can feel the warmth of honey-gold eyes, can feel it like the California sun, and,

He looks out across the faceless crowd, and his world narrows down, _down_ , and _there’s Steve_ , in a dark sapphire suit, looking as gorgeous as the day Billy broke his heart,

And Billy’s _tired_ ,

And he’s still as in love as he ever was, tired of runnin’ from it, tired of bein’ terrified ‘cause he’s _not normal,_

And he _isn’t_ , ‘cause he’s got a Familiar at _twenty-three_ and can walk through fire, and he loves Steve Harrington, _always will_ , will go down into the earth lovin’ him, and Steve doesn’t deserve Billy regretting him,

So Billy gives Steve a soft, faint smile, a private kinda smile, one meant just for him,

And Steve’s face breaks into a huge, beaming grin, and Billy wants to fall to his knees, and,

They have the reception in the old Hawkins Grange, and there are fairy-lights in the rafters, tiger lilies on the tables, and Billy stands at the bar with a glass of sparkling water in hand as he watches El and Max dance to some pop song he doesn’t know, and Joyce and Hop are in their own little world together, and Nancy and Jonathan are arguing about something over Jonathan’s stupidly complicated camera,

And they’ve _made it,_

And Billy’s _grown up,_

Has tattoos that sing when he walks through the Otherworld, a Familiar that throws fits in three in the morning, has a fire insida him that Steve Harrington coaxed to life, a fire that’ll one day burn Billy alive from the inside out,

But that’s _alright,_

‘Cause Billy Hargrove was born to go outta this world blazing,

And he thinks his time might be tonight when;

“Hey, man,”

And Billy’s poor, _wilting,_ shrapnel heart makes itself known for the first time in five years as Steve sidles towards him, chestnut hair a wild toss, falling soft to his shoulders, and Billy can still feel those gold-streaked locks between his fingers, and his throat _clenches_ as, outside, Fawcett trills and sings and croons,

And,

The fire begins to stir, stirs in the pit of Billy’s gut, called to raging at the mere sound of Steve Harrington's voice.

“Heya, Stevie,” Billy says, casual as anything, and Steve’s gaze is so – fucking _intense,_ and, “where’s the plus one,”

Because Billy’s _grown up,_ but not outta sticking his stupid foot in his mouth,

But Steve just shrugs a little awkwardly, laughs, says, “didn’t work out,” and then, “love the tats, man, those are dope. Heard you, uh, got inducted into a, a _Coven?_ So witches _are_ , are _real_ , then?”

At which Billy has to snort, because; 

“You wouldn’t _believe_ half the shit that’s turned out to be real, Bambi,”

And the name slips, _slips out_ , and Steve’s cheeks go pink and Billy _desperately_ wishes he could turn water into wine, but he just ducks his head, clears his throat, says, “it’s a long fuckin’ story, Harrington,” and,

“Not goin’ anywhere, tiger,”

Soft,

_Gentle,_

Everything Billy couldn’t be, not even for Steve Harrington.

And Billy looks up to meet those sunlit eyes, and his shrapnel heart’s been across the plains for five years, and it’s making itself known for the first time as it thunders through the dusty, aching cage of his chest, and Steve’s watching him with some kinda longing on his face, some kinda pain, pain that Billy fuckin’ put there, and,

He’s so fucking _gorgeous_ , and Billy’s – Billy’s _not_ a dead man walkin’, ‘cause Steve brought his heart right back to him, safe and as shattered as he remembers it, and the fire in his gut is so – _so,_

Soft,

_Gentle,_

Everything Billy never thought he was.

( _Until you were, tiger_ ,)

“ _Billy_ ,” Steve says then, quiet, and Billy’s heart’s in his fucking throat and he wants to fall to his knees, wants to beg for some kinda _mercy_ , and some – some gooey love song is playing, all strings and haunting vocals, and,

“Dance with me,”

And it comes out a little – a little _rough,_ but Steve’s chest hitches, and Billy holds up a tattooed hand, steps close,

“Dance with me, Stevie, c’mon,”

“Yeah,” Steve murmurs, “yeah, okay,”

And Steve’s fingers tangle between Billy’s own, and Billy’s been on fire for five years, but he’s never been this warm, not since he conjured up the cold right between him and Steve Harrington, since he made the sun go dark,

And Billy slides an arm around Steve’s waist, pulls him close, _close_ , and he knows everyone’s fucking watching, knows there’ll be pictures, pictures he’ll be able to look at because they won’t be on a broken phone, and Billy slides his hand over the dip in Steve’s spine, remembers how it used to arch when he touched him just _right_ , and,

They never got prom, the two of ‘em, but they shoulda,

And Steve smells the _same_ , the exact same as Billy remembers, like ocean-spice, like lavender, and when Steve slides his cheek against Billy’s, it feels as if someone’s punched right through it,

“You never texted me back,” Steve says, quiet, so _quiet_ , and Billy’s damned heart is tryina clamber back into Steve as he shuts his eyes, shuts his eyes and presses against Steve, chest to knee, and the air is getting _thick_ as magic curls up through Billy’s skin, coaxed _right_ outta him by Steve Harrington and his sunlit heart,

“Learned a lot, these five years,” Billy murmurs, “but I never really learned how to be that kinda brave, Bambi,”

And when Steve laughs, it’s a _sad,_ wet _, punching_ thing, and Billy’s shedding tears before he even registers that his eyes are stinging, and Steve’s hand tightens around his own as they move _slow,_ careful, like they might _shatter_ if they don’t,

“I’m some kinda coward, Stevie,” Billy says, and his voice is _so_ fucking tight, and Steve’s hand slides from his back to clutch at the open collar of his shirt, and the whole world seems to fall away, narrows down to the way Steve holds onto him, holds onto him for the first time in five years, narrows down to the way the violins sing through Billy’s bones, “lost the best thing I ever had because I’m a goddamn _coward,"_

But this isn’t a story about an ending,

Not a story about loss,

Because love stories like this one don’t ever start gentle,

( _Until they do, tiger,)_

And this one started bloody in a forest in Hawkins, Indiana,

But there’s two parts to this,

A love,

A life,

And Billy found his in the forest in Salem, where he stopped runnin’ from the fire insida him that burns to the cadence of Steve Harrington’s heartbeat, the fire that makes Billy Hargrove a livin’ man walkin’, despite his missin’ heart,

And Steve Harrington -

_Steve Harrington_ finds his life -

“Tell me it’s _not too late_ ,” Steve pleads, right against Billy’s ear, and a shudder rips down Billy’s spine, his _aching_ spine, and their clinging fingers untangle just so Steve can cup Billy’s jaw, and every fucking touch feels like he’s being ripped apart, and,

“Tell me it’s not too late to come _home_ , Billy,”

And Billy doesn’t know why it _took this long,_

Maybe it was some kinda divine timing,

Maybe it was some kinda magic,

But it’s been _five years,_

And,

“Never shoulda chased you outta it,” Billy rasps, and they’re not dancing anymore; they’re _clinging_ to one another, both bleeding tears, and Billy cups Steve’s throat with hands that beg to be gentle, and he runs his thumbs over Steve’s jaw, meets those honey-gold eyes, feels his soul surge forwards in the clutch of his muscle, feels the fire as keenly as the day it woke up insida him, that day in the Hawkins forest, when Steve kissed him stupid, mouth a bloody mess,

And,

“Never shoulda hurt you, Bambi, never shoulda pushed you out into the cold,” and,

It’s not a house with four walls and a roof they’re talkin’ about,

And Steve lets out a soft sob, eyes _red,_ so red, and Billy pries Steve’s shaking hand loose from the collar of his shirt, guides it underneath the silk, and Steve’s gaze falls to the spiky, spindly _S_ tattooed on Billy’s chest, where X marks the fuckin’ spot, because Billy’s feelin’ his acid heart for the first time in five years,

And,

Billy’s been walkin’ through fire for five years, all to atone for the pain he caused Steve Harrington when he shoved him out into the cold, and he’s learned how to make that fire gentle, knows how to make it feel like velvet against skin, and it’s now, _here_ , that Billy realizes he was _learning how_ – how to be _warm_ , all for _this,_

All to drive the cold right outta Steve,

The cold Billy buried in him when he broke 'em,

The cold Steve chased right outta Billy, five years ago, that day in the Hawkins forest,

“No one _worked_ ,” Steve grates out, thumb tracing the _S_ , and his nose wrinkles and Billy smears tears into his cheeks with his thumbs, “no one was – they weren’t _you_ ,” and,

“Only _ever_ been _you_ , Harrington,” Billy confesses, quiet, _husky_ , painful, and Steve lets out an _ugly_ , gasping sob, _and then –_

And then Billy’s tasting his grief, ‘cause Steve’s kissing him with five years wortha tears on his lips, and Billy’s lungs flood with air, flood with life, flood with the breath that Steve Harrington stole outta him five fucking years ago, and he can _feel his heart_ , and it’s not as shattered as he remembers, not anymore, and –

The lights above them start to dance, and Billy lets fire surge up under his sun-beaten skin as Steve pours five years wortha longing over his tongue, as Steve presses his palm over the spiky _S_ on Billy’s chest, as Billy slides an arm of iron around Steve’s waist and tries to give Steve an apology that means somethin’,

But,

He thinks,

Thinks the _best one_ ,

The only one that would _matter,_

Is,

“Love you somethin’ _crazy,_ Steve Harrington,”

And Billy says it against his ear, holds Steve through the violent sob that wracks him when he does, and then Steve’s hand sinks into his golden curls and his wet lips slide over Billy’s cheek, across his temple,

And it’ll take _time,_

But Billy’s _got_ time,

‘Cause he’s _alive,_ and that life started in the Salem forest –

_No,_

It started –

Started with a _fist to the jaw,_

Started with,

_“You with me, Hargrove?”_

With,

_“Try and keep up, Harrington,”_

And love stories as incredible as this don’t start _gentle,_

Until they do,

Until they get another chance, another chance, by some fuckin' kinda _miracle,_

Until they _become_ that way,

Become:

_Fire-fierce_

_Honey-gold,_

_Shrapnel-hearted,_

_Sunlit,_

And it’ll take _time,_ but Billy’s met things that’re so old it moves him to faith, but it was _never_ like this,

Never made him wanna fall to his knees,

Never bled the devotion _right_ outta his veins, not like Steve Harrington did,

And Steve’s holding onto Billy like he’s never gonna let him go,

And there’ll be pictures of the two of ‘em, clinging to one another in the middle of the old Hawkins Grange like they’ll drown if they let go, pictures Billy will get to keep ‘cause they’re not on a broken phone,

And Steve Harrington took Billy’s heart way across the plains and brought it back just a little _less_ tattered than it was when he left, and he breathed the air back into Billy’s lungs,

And,

It _begins_ ,

**Author's Note:**

> songs:  
> \- long & lost, florence + the machine  
> \- from the grave, james arthur  
> \- kingdom of one, maren morris


End file.
